


Early Spring In Montreal

by dustbunnyprophet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slice of Life, mentions of Milabek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet
Summary: If someone had told his fifteen year old self Jean would be the highlight of his days, Yuri had no doubt he would have yelled the fuck at them before kicking them for their sheer idiocy.And yet here he was, smiling stupidly as he listened to Jean starting to hum one of the songs he had composed.He was a fucking sap, but he could not help it.Yuri loved the fucking idiot.





	Early Spring In Montreal

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this extra fluffy piece of [fanart](https://twitter.com/ErenEsMiDios/status/827697796102905856). <3

The spring evening was pleasantly warm. A faint breeze moved the bedroom curtains, carrying the faint smell of wet grass and petrichor. It had rained for better part of the day, and both Yuri and Jean had gotten thoroughly soaked on the way to the rink. But by the time their training was done, and they had dragged their exhausted bodies home, the rain had stopped and the waning sunlight had broken through the clouds, painting the Montreal sky in hues of pink and orange.

Yuri sighed, plopping down on the mattress. He rubbed his wet hair with a towel before casting it aside and taking out his phone. He was bone tired, but it was too early to go to bed, and besides he wanted to wait for Jean to join him before he collapsed into slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he rolled his shoulders, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It had been a gruelling training session, but the World Team Trophy was in a week and he had to make a last effort before the season was officially done.

He unlocked the screen and began scrolling through his social media. Mila had been very active on Instagram, and he took his time looking at her photos. One of the upsides of his teammate’s relationship with Beka was that Yuri  _ finally  _ got enough pictures of his friend. Otabek had moved to Saint Petersburg to train under Yakov two years prior, and it had taken Mila no time in finally getting together with the skater she had been pining for for way too long. Yuri had never told her Beka had been doing the very same. If his best friend and his favourite hag had been too thick to figure things on their own Yuri sure as fuck had had no intentions to interfere. 

Even Jean and him had spent less time dancing around each other, for fuck’s sake. Of course by dancing Yuri meant insulting and generally being dickish to one another. He grinned at the thought, shaking his head as he looked through Mila’s photos. Most of them had been taken at the rink, but there were several awfully domestic ones snapped in their apartment. One in particular made him snort. It was of Otabek glaring at a pot while he stirred the contents with the same concentration he performed quads, while Mila grinned in the foreground.

Yuri kept looking at the photos, faintly registering the sound of the shower stopping. But knowing the amount of time Jean’s nightly routine took he didn’t even rise his face from the instagram feed. He had at least ten good minutes before his boyfriend emerged from the bathroom, artfully tousled hair and skin smelling like the almond scented lotion he used. 

He rolled his eyes, remembering the exasperation he had used to feel at Jean’s antics. Now they were just endearing idiosyncrasies he would have not traded for anything in the world. Because they were what made Jean himself. The winks, the cocky attitude, the random singing, the almost reverent care he took in his appearance, and by extension Yuri’s, they were all little pieces of Jean that reminded him daily how fucking lucky he was. 

If someone had told his fifteen year old self Jean would be the highlight of his days, Yuri had no doubt he would have yelled the fuck at them before kicking them for their sheer idiocy. And yet here he was, smiling stupidly as he listened to Jean starting to hum one of the songs he had composed. He was a fucking sap, but he couldn’t help it. Yuri loved the fucking idiot.

And yeah, he  _ was  _ fucking lucky. The way he had treated Jean those first two seasons had been awful as fuck, and yet the idiot had persevered with his lowkey flirting until Yuri had been drunk enough to admit to himself that he was fucking attracted to him. The rest was history. 

His heart squeezed as glimpses of memories rose to the surface of his mind. Their first kiss, sloppy and too drunk to be good. Their second kiss, months afterwards, and much more memorable than the first one. Looking at Jean’s sky blue eyes and getting lost in them. Sleeping curled around each other. Tentatively starting to explore each other. Kisses trailing down Yuri’s skin, and Yuri’s teeth grazing over tan sweaty skin. Jean and his obnoxiously loud laughter which made him look like his whole body was shaking in mirth. Jean murmuring in French and never telling Yuri what he had just said. Yuri secretly learning French because fuck you Leroy he was not going to be kept in the dark.

Jean telling him he loved him, and Yuri kissing the daylight out of him before whispering a heavily accented  _ Je t’aime _ that had Jean’s eyes widening like saucers for a breathless heartbeat. And then being pinned down on the mattress as Jean kissed him hard. 

Screaming Jean’s name as the world collapsed in front of him.

Yuri fingers kept scrolling down the feed, but his mind was far away from Mila’s selfies and Georgi’s depressive photos. It was deep in the past and at the same time a silvery thread pulled him towards the humming voice which was growing closer and closer.

He felt the bed dip as Jean sat down behind him. Warm and smelling like almonds.

“Yuri-chan” he said, a grin in his voice, and Yuri rolled his eyes. But a moment later Jean’s fingers were treading through his hair, and his shoulders relaxed. He could feel the light scratch of nails on his scalp as Jean pulled his hair back, combing it with his fingers. A sigh escaped from his lips and his lids dropped on reflex.

Jean’s hands were slow, but earnest and Yuri leaned back until his back was pressed to his chest. He could have fallen asleep, there under Jean’s ministrations. But then Jean suddenly asked

“What is your last name?” and Yuri’s eyes flew open. 

He turned to him, eyeing his boyfriend with an incredulous frown

“Ummm, Plisetsky?” he said, baffled at the question. Because what the fuck? “It hasn’t changed since we met, JJ.” he added, still eyeing Jean with a mixture of bemusement and irritation. 

He was about to ask Jean if he had fallen in the tub and hit his fucking head, because they’ve been together for too many years for him to ask such a moronic question, but he never got to voice it, because Jean pulled him closer to his chest, curling his sinewy arms around him, and effectively snapping his mouth shut.

“Maybe…” Jean murmured in Yuri’s ear “It’s time to change it”

His voice was a low purr, and his breath was hot on his neck, but he paid it no attention. Because Jean’s hand was grasping his own, and something cold slipped on his finger. Just as Jean asked

“Don’t you think so?”

And Yuri’s heart hammered a thousand mile a minute. In a sharp motion he turned around and crushed Jean in a tight embrace. His arms were pulling him ever closer and his throat was a tight knot. 

No words were coming forth. But his mind was screaming  _ Yesyesyesyes.  _  And Jean must have understood it, because his grip got tighter. 

Yuri felt tears pool in his eyes, but he didn’t give a fuck. He lifted his head and kissed Jean with all he had. All he was. 

He kissed him and let his lips speak for him.

Let them say  _ Yes. _


End file.
